Desperate
by Monitor
Summary: One-shot. Just a little short for me to get back in the swing. Boba Fett, the most feared and hated bounty hunter in the galaxy, does not expect anyony to appreciate his work. However, very seldom, it is.


**Disclaimer: I do not own Star Wars, or Fett.**

**Well, I was reading some of my work to get in the swing of things again after my lack of writing and i decided to write up a short one shot to do that. Boba Fett was my choice, of course. Please review. I hope you like it.**

* * *

The woman was obviously desperate. She was not old, but years of labor had given her the face of an older woman. She was quite pretty in a rugged sort of way with strong hands, stringy muscles, stubborn eyes and the will of an ox. Yet, with all of these, she was still helpless. Frantic she flailed with her hands, searching for someone to help her, someone with influence and more strength than she possessed. She sought him out without knowing it, and when she came upon him, she paused before flinging herself at his feet, grasping his gloved hand, squeezing it until it was numb, begging him for his aid.

He would have never complied with her pleas, shaking her off to weep on the ground, had not some bizarre twist of fate placed his hard merchandise as her violator. Boba Fett gazed past the crowd of powerless onlookers to the center of their attention: he was short, muscular, with big round thighs and chest. He and his cronies were laughing mercilessly as he beat a lean teenage boy. The boy had blood splattered on his face and clothes, two black eyes forming, and cuts adorning his face like festive decorations. He was nearly unconscious, unable to fight back or even get to his feet. All he could do was struggle weakly, which made all the assorted followers laugh more.

They were bent over, slapping their legs and neighbor's backs in mirth. More often than not tears streamed down faces. The abuser, on the other hand, simply had a huge toothy grin on his face, obviously pleased with the nearing death of the young man. It was as if his greatest pleasure in life was bringing pain and suffering to the lives of the powerless; it most likely was. Fett was not surprised he had a bounty on his ugly, red head.

The mother of the victim, for that was surely what she was, followed his gaze through a gap in the crowd to see her son fall to the ground, unmoving, at the feet of the silent onlookers. She let out a sobbing whimper, sure that he would not survive the encounter. The beefy man turned away, pulling a think brown cigar from a pocket.

Fett shook her off and strode forward quickly. People took one look at him and stepped silently aside. He stopped with the mangled teen at his feet with the mother in tow just in time to hear the man say "Pick 'im up."

He was Snyder Znit, drug lord and crime organizer in the small, outer-world town. No one could stand up to him and his large personal army, not even the police force, which had grown weak since his arrival. He was an off worlder, not crafty enough to make a name of himself on any major planet, but smart enough to come to a smaller, recluse planet to make himself just as feared by the locals as any true crime lord would be. His original crew had come with him, tailing him with the same sad story that he had: not good enough. After they had settled themselves in nicely, they had taken to terrorizing the streets, picking up the strong and stupid workers of the town. He had already declared half the city his in less than a standard galactic year, placing a living, selling, and even walking tax on everyone who entered it. Before the year was out, his personal army had tripled in size and he owned the entire town. He occupied the late governor's mansion and was currently working on eliminating the underground police force resistance. He was a glutton for power and pain, drunk with his own success. He never would have dreamed that a bounty hunter would come after him. Ultimately, underestimating his enemy was his downfall.

"Pick him up," he said again. His goons were still laughing too hard to look up and see death standing behind their leader. Boba Fett complied with the request, scooping up the man and putting him in the strong arms of his mother, who wept harder and, stammering her thanks, began dragging her son away. A few ventured to help her.

Znit turned around, grinning through his stout cigar. He was ready to beat on the boy again, ready to teach the puny who was boss. Instead, he found himself staring into a T-shaped visor, hard, cold, and unrelenting. The cigar dropped from his mouth. Behind him, the assortment of men and creatures stopped their laughing and pulled blasters from their belts, waiting for their leader to give the word.

Snyder wiped the fear from his face. A leader could not show his fear, especially a ruthless one. Instead, he adopted a casual stance, as if he was meeting a friend for tea, and a smug expression.

"Fett," he said in a false, presently surprised voice in which the tremor was hardly audible. You had to give him a little credit for that. "Long time no see." He had never seen Boba Fett before in his life.

The mandalorian armor clad hunter did not move, did not reply. The crowd, already drawn back as if by invisible strings, moved back more.

"You seem to have taken my play thing away from me. He was a great entertainment for myself and my men here."

Still no reply, but there was the faintest hint of movement about him, as if he had move several tiny things all at once. It had not seemed possible a few moments before for Fett to seem more sinister, but somehow, it seemed to Znit that death was just around the corner. He had to act fast.

"My enemies don't have much money Fett. I could pay you twice as much as they have. You would win, I would win, and they would lose. You would gain three times what you originally would have gotten. Do we have a deal?" Hell, it was worth a shot. Besides, he had an army at his disposal; even Fett could not defeat an army single-handedly.

Fett cocked his head, as if he were interested. "Perhaps," he rasped. Znit fought a smile off his face. All bounty hunters are the same: greedy, he thought. "There is the question of how much you can pay me."

"How much was I worth?"

"75,000 credits."

"Only that much?" growled Znit. He had been hoping for more. "Very well, I can pay you 150,000 credits. I'm worth that much."

Fett stepped forward and the men behind Znit relaxed; they were sure the deal with Fett was closed and done with. Fett saw his chance and stepped forward with his hand outstretched. Personally, he never shook hands, it was too dangerous, but Znit was just stupid enough to take the gloved one.

"Don't you know I'm a man of my-"Znit did not get a chance to finish his accusation. The moment he grasped Fett's hand, Boba twisted his arm about, whirling the crime lord into a painful arm hold. Znit was between Boba, who had somehow gotten a large blaster rifle in his hand, and his men, who were still trying to comprehend what was happening. They stood with blasters drawn, unsure of what to do. The fact that people were now running to and fro around them, shouting and screaming, was not helping them.

In moments, the street was clear. Angry eyes peered out of the shadows, but their bodies could not be seen. The people wanted their ruler's rein to cease; they wanted Boba Fett to kill him.

"Don't fire!" shouted Znit at his men. Fett however, had no such intentions. He shot two of the five goons in the head before the others could react. When they did pull themselves together, one more was dead. The remaining two dived behind anything that would serve as a barrier. They still could not fire for Znit, wild eyed and frantic, still was held as a human shield.

Everything would have worked out fine had not reinforcements come down the street.

Fett could not decide which to protect himself against. Quick thinking and instinct had always saved him in the past, but having a hostage was not his favorite predicament. A hostage always tried to make things as difficult as possible and got in the way. Sure enough, Znit had dug his heels into the ground as if to say: I'm not going anywhere.

As if he had a choice.

The two men behind the tipped over trash cans were Fett's biggest problem. If Fett turned to the oncoming reinforcements, he would leave a vulnerable side open to them. He began backing up to get a better defensive point, when a shadow rose behind the two men. Hefting a metal bar, the shadow, in one fluid movement, swung right, then left, cracking each man on the side of the head. They fell into piles of rotten fruit a vegetables and the shadow beckoned. Fett needed no prompting; another set of twenty armed soldiers were coming from the other direction.

Dragging Znit, Boba darted after her. She led him down a narrow alley; Znit was making it as hard as possible for him by digging his heels into the ground and walls.

"I do not need you alive," Fett rasped, jamming the barrel of his blaster against Znit's back. "They said they preferred alive, but that was not necessary." Znit fought back considerably less after that.

The woman opened a small hidden doorway in the wall, and ducked in. Fett shoved Znit in. He paused to listen to the street's confusion before ducking in the doorway after his merchandise.

"Move and she dies Fett," hissed Znit. He had backed into a corner of the small room and held a vibroblade to the neck of the young woman, who Fett recognized to be the mother of the boy he saved.

Fett snapped the door closed behind him and heard a lock clicked into place. He straightened himself to him full height, which may not have been extremely high, but he was taller than Znit. He looked like some dangerous creature unfolding itself, all armored and covered in weapons that he could use very well. The woman felt the knife waver at her neck.

"She means nothing to me." How anyone could say such a thing in such a dry voice, the woman would never know. "Go ahead."

Znit paused. He had been bluffing of course. If he were to kill the woman, he himself would be dead meat in seconds. Boba Fett, he figured, does not know about the blaster I have. He had a blaster up against the woman's back.

"You don't kill needlessly, Fett," sneered Znit. "You wouldn't kill an innocent to get to me."

"Care to place a wager on that?" The woman had said that, talking fast before Fett could answer. "Go ahead Fett, shoot him. I don't care anymore- " Znit cut her off with pressure of his knife. A trickle of blood slid down her neck.

Fett watched it under his helmet. The woman watched him with steely grey eyes. _Do it_, she mouthed and closed her eyes. Fett raised his rifle and took careful aim. Znit was pale and shaking by now, to afraid to move or do anything. Staring down a black barrel at a black T will do that to a person.

_Her choice_, thought Fett as he squeezed the trigger.

* * *

There had been a back way out of the room. Perhaps that had been a good thing, considering the alley was flooding with thugs trying in vain to reach their leader. He was dead of course. Fett had collected some of the blood to prove that Znit had at least shed blood. He didn't really need all of that; he had an eye witness.

"Thank you," she whispered in a small voice behind him. "Thank you for everything you have done for us. I know you're just doing what they paid you to, but to us it means a lot more."

Boba looked at her. What could he say? Nothing, so he said it.

"My name it Roan. If ever you need help, the life of my brother and my people and myself are yours."

Fett nodded. He collected the rare moments that people appreciated his killing, though only in his memory.

She was the only one who watched Slave I lift away, wondering if she would ever see that bounty hunter again. If she did, would she be as happy to see him as she was this time?


End file.
